On the slopes with Pretty Woman

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Probably the thing least
likely to be entertaining on one's return to lodge after a stimulating and
energetic day on the ski slopes is walking in mid-tape on a video
screening of, oh God, Pretty Woman. But, then, we ought not forget that
the lodge is the traditional soggy and river-swept residence of the
beaver, and Pretty Woman, who knows, may well be a beaver video of choice.
Anything to enliven those dark tundra nights. And so here we, Richard,
Julia and a brace of small, furry, buck-toothed Canadians, are set for
another evening on Mount Buller, Aboriginal for icy but scenic, as opposed
to Bulla, which is Aboriginal for just north of the international airport.
The day has been bright, warm and sunny, the cover richly prolific, but
erring by late afternoon to sequential combinations of hard ice and watery
slop. Julia Roberts looks ridiculous in that platinum wig. It's happy hour
at the bar. And this, in sum - less points for Pretty Woman - seems as
good an advertisement as any for the gentle art of skiing, an activity
more than likely in its last reliable years here in southern Victoria,
given the combined effects of brown coal power generation and the
countless other steamy byproducts of modern industrialised life. If, as
predicted, the state's average temperatures rise by 5 or 6 degrees in the
next generation, snow will increasingly be something that happens to New
Zealand. So, we must catch the locally available product while we can, and
this weekend past has been a cracker. Buller's Bourke Street has resembled
its city namesake at peak hour, complete with pedestrian mall mid-stream,
the ceaseless human tide providing a day of rich challenge for our lifties
(Dong, Steph, Zeb and Horse, among others). Japanese tour groups pitched
snowballs from the wings, while fleets of beginners groped their uncertain
serpentines to the bottom of the hill, occasionally disturbed - like
flocked seagulls alarmed at a running dog - by the high velocity
snowboarders at the margins of control. Selection trials for interschool
ski racing have also been in full swing, filling the slopes with little
knots of fast-moving polar fleece, branded in the marquee names of
Victorian private education. This has provided a spectacle to prove again
that timeless observation by Barry Humphries: that it really doesn't
matter which of the major public schools you go to, a good time can be had
on the Australian ski slopes. While they last.

Like sand
through the hourglass . . .

And it is the slow tick of
time that has been exercising the finest minds of the Nine Network in
recent weeks, the issue being the Australian network's failure to keep
pace with American screenings of Days of Our Lives and The
Young and the Restless. The situation is beyond shocking. Australia
has fallen four years behind the current episodes being screened in the
US, a period in which it is entirely possible that no fewer than 28
incestuous lesbian relationships have been consummated, and that was
before the cancer diagnosis. Local viewers, in short, are labouring in an
appalling state of ignorance. This may have been acceptable once, but now,
in the era of instant communication, one need only look to the internet to
realise that one's favourite characters have either: a, ceased to be, b,
changed sex and occupation or c, both of the above, four times since 2002.
The most likely solution, and in this idea is the germ of greatness, is to
screen a number of composite "story so far episodes" later in this ratings
year. The final detail is unclear, but network sources speculate that
covering four years of intricate plot should take, oh, as many as two
45-minute specials. So, stay tuned. And watch with interest as other
networks realise that compression may well be the answer to previously
unwieldy and time-consuming formats. Big Brother all over in half
an hour. The entire history of Blue Heelers in one blood-curdling
week of bucolic mayhem. You could probably get away without screening
Stingers at all. It's tempting.